


Mothering

by ami_ven



Category: Castle
Genre: Community: writerverse, Families of Choice, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beckett has someone to take care of her, for a change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mothering

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "writerverse" challenge (write about mothers)

It was just Beckett’s luck that less than a day after Castle had left for his writers’ workshop, she came down with a stomach bug.

Captain Gates was more than willing to let her use some of the sick time she’d accrued over the years, and Beckett stumbled to the kitchen, just managing to stay upright long enough to make herself a cup of tea before crumpling onto the couch with a pile of blankets. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, her now-cold tea was being whisked away and a steaming bowl being set in its place.

“I— Martha?” asked Beckett, sitting up carefully.

“Good, I was just going to wake you,” said Martha, sweeping back in from the kitchen with another bowl. “Are you feeling better, darling?”

“A little.” The bowl on the coffee table contained soup, chicken noodle and obviously not from a can. “Did you make this?”

Martha sat beside her, setting her own soup on the table to rest a quick hand on Beckett’s forehead. “Not much of a fever. And, no, not really. Just diced chicken and mixed frozen vegetables. I used to make it for Richard, when he was sick.”

“Really?” asked Beckett, taking a slurping spoonful of soup— it tasted wonderful. “I mean, thank you, Martha, but you didn’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“Of course you are,” the older woman said. “But I… I know you have your own mother, and I would never try to intrude on the memories you have of her, but… well, I’ve felt that you were mine long before you actually married my son.”

“Martha…” Beckett said. She set her soup back down again and scooted over, reaching out with the hand not keeping her blankets in place. “I feel that way, too.”

“Well,” said Martha, clearly touched. “Well, good. Now, dear, eat your soup and get some rest.”

The detective smiled. “Yes, Mother.”

THE END


End file.
